


Mend

by eternalfangirl220



Series: Dreaming of Ashes and Crowns [1]
Category: Splintered - A. G. Howard
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Torture, Alison is a BAMF, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alyssa is a coward, But oh my god is this AU, F/M, Fix-It, Greek Mythology - Freeform, I know I said it, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Morpheus deserves a hug, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Seriously canon is in shambles, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, cursing, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalfangirl220/pseuds/eternalfangirl220
Summary: Alyssa Gardner never wanted any of this. She only ever wanted to be normal, to live out her life with Jeb - if it ever gets that far. So when she's given the opportunity to make her wish, she chooses herself - she chooses Jeb, and, for a minute, she forgets to choose her mother.Her wish carries her to that Friday, after school, when she was working on her mosaic - before she ever invited Morpheus into her life. But her problems aren't over - Alison is still in the asylum, and Alyssa has no proof to convince them to let her mother out.But there are far greater, further-reaching consequences than her mother's location - consequences she can't possibly begin to understand, though they can destroy her entire life and her entire world.Meanwhile, a mysterious girl, with knowledge of everything that should be and everything that should never be, senses a change in the Timeline she's sworn to protect, and she risks everything she has to lose to repair the damage done by a split-second decision and gains something more.





	1. Visions and Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to post this once before, but I didn't really know what I was doing so I removed it. Now that I know where I'm going (I've got, like, 100 some pages of planning to prove it), I think I can share this story with anyone who's interested in reading it.
> 
> I know most people aren't going to even be reading this, but if you are, please know that this story is extremely AU and extremely not-canon. Alyssa makes a slightly different wish, and everything changes, leaving my OC to try to pick up the pieces (though I don't think it's a particularly good idea to let someone who's got that many scars in charge of cleanup duty). And by scars, I do mean both kinds. 
> 
> So another warning: this story will be dark. My OC has been through a lot, and while there won't be explicit details, there will be enough that anyone easily disturbed might want to avoid this. And for anyone who still wants to read but is squeamish, I will let you know about any chapters that might be triggering.
> 
> Anyone still here?
> 
> Good.
> 
> Let's get this party started.
> 
> Disclaimer: I, eternalfangirl220, do not own "Splintered" by A.G. Howard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet our hero, and a slightly different wish is made, changing everything.

 

> **Prologue**  
>  _**Visions and Wishes** _

 

The club is crowded and lively. It's a Friday night, and everyone is toasting to the weekend's much welcomed arrival. The strobe lights flash, highlighting the people on the dance floor in neon colors, and the blacklight fixtures on the ceiling have the lighter colors on people's clothing glowing eerily in the darkness. The music — some nameless electronic, dubstep remix with a decent beat — throbs in the background, humming through her blood and brain.

Most people are avoiding the bar. The dance floor, at least, is well-maintained — if for no other reason than necessity since so many people in L.A. love to dance. But the bar doesn't have that luxury. It's sticky and stained with all of the spilled alcohol the local drunks have managed to slop out of their glasses, and the whole thing smells like a mix of cigarette smoke, sweat, sex, and crappy alcohol.

Charlotte "Char" Maybelline doesn't particularly care — she nurses a glass of bourbon at the bar. She knows she looks out of place in the club (or maybe she looks perfectly in place and that's the problem), with her dark hair cropped short around her skull in disarray and her alien green eyes sporting some haggard circles beneath them, but she can't really bring herself to care. Tonight isn't a good night.

Some idiot went and reported her location to the _Καταστραφεί_. **(1)** She knows. She saw it.

They'll be coming soon, but by the time they get here, she'll be long gone and Char will be just another face in the Missing Persons list. If anyone cares to report it. She doubts they will. They never do.

She tips her head back and finishes off the bourbon. It goes down easy enough, but her mouth and throat both burn and it leaves an awful aftertaste — like paint thinner. She makes a face as she sets the glass down on the bar, trying to ignore the sticky feeling to the plastic covering over the stained wood.

"Another?" the bartender asks, wiping a dirty glass with an even dirtier rag.

She shakes her head. She'd reply vocally, but it only makes identifying her even easier. She hasn't quite figured out how to glamor her voice, despite all the years of practice she's had.

She can tell the bartender thinks that she's rude, and he opens his mouth like he's going to say something. So she pulls some money out of her pocket and slides a decently sizable wad of cash his way; he hushes up real quick. The cash is easy enough to make when one can manipulate reality, and the added benefit of shutting people up is something she'd have to be insane to let go — morals be damned.

She slides her seat back, away from the bar, and runs her hand through her hair, pushing it further into that untidy, might-be-addicted-to-any-number-of-illegal-substances kind of look. She knows she has that — it's why all but the _really_ sleazy guys are steering clear of her; she looks like a trainwreck waiting to happen. If only they knew.

She gives an ironic smirk at her thoughts, and she can't help but feel a laugh bubble up in her chest at the expressions the passerbys give her. They think she's insane. They're probably right.

She's on her way out the door, to disappear into the night like the ghost she might as well be when she stumbles. Wooziness hits her with a vengeance, and her head quickly feels like it's being stuffed with cotton. With a dizzying rush, her awareness swirls into a Vision. _Bloody fucking hell_.

* * *

The clear bead sparkles in Alyssa's palm. Her wish can’t be used directly for Jeb, but it can still save him.

She glares through her tears at Morpheus. “You once told me if I helped you, I’d be helping myself. Setting things right in Wonderland would free me and my family, forever.”

He nudges the caterpillar carving with a finger. It spins on the marble floor. “Have you never heard the saying, ‘The truth shall set you free’? I gave you that. A glimpse of the real you.”

She bends down, level with his ear. “If I could, I’d make you take his place.”

Morpheus’s jaw clenches. “The magic is final. Your mortal knight saw to that. _One trade of souls will shut the door, and blood shall seal it, evermore._ ”

She barely restrains herself from attacking him and, instead, touches the crimson roses. “I could join him. The wish can be used to put me inside.”

“I’ll not allow it!” Morpheus tries to stand, but the knights place their sword tips at his sternum, holding him in place.

“It will be a wasted wish.” Gossamer lights on her shoulder. “Only one soul will fit in the box at a time. Besides, the portal will never open again — in or out.”

Jeb mimes the words, _“Go home.”_

Tears trail down Alyssa's cheeks. She strokes the glass above his face, memorizing every line. If she wishes that they'd never come, neither of them would have been there for this to happen.

Morpheus struggles against his captors, still on his knees, reminding her why she'd come here to begin with. If she put everything back as it was, he’ll be free again, too. Free to torment her family until someone stops him once and for all. Still, she can't bring herself to care.

She kisses the cold, hard glass separating them, remembering his lips like they were in the Hall of Mirrors. Soft, warm, giving, and alive. Those first kisses will be their last.

"I'll see you on the other side," she whispers.

“No, Alyssa!” Morpheus screams, the sound ragged and full of pain. But it’s too late. She's squeezed the tear, and the liquid drizzles down her wrist, warm with the scent of brine and longing.

Tilting her head back, she makes her wish, whispering it reverently even as the world spins around her. _"I wish I never looked for Morpheus."_

Behind her closed eyes, a giant pocket watch spins, its hands turning counterclockwise. Everything happens in reverse: her wings sinking back into her skin; their ride on the clams shuffling them upward onto the crumpled chessboard, which levels to a smooth, sandy slant; surfing up instead of down and jumping backward onto March Hairless’s table, face-to-face with icy statues; the kisses in the mirrored hall, all of them taken back — slipped away into a pocket of time never to be remembered by anyone but her; she sees the ocean refilling, them leaping into the rowboat, then the octobenus sliding back into the water while they fall asleep once more, only to awaken on the white sandy beaches; her riding atop Jeb’s shoulder as he walks backward, shrinking down to her size as they battle the flowers, then backtrack to the tiny door. Into the rabbit hole, then up, up, up to face the sunshine. Everything at home, at Butterfly Threads, at the asylum, at Underland — it all plays in reverse. Until at last, she's free, and Jeb is safe.

She opens her eyes.

It's that sunny Friday from before. The feathery lightning mosaic sits, unfinished, on her desk. Leaning back in her chair, she sighs in relief.

He can't touch her now — he can't touch her _ever again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Greek for "Corrupted".
> 
> Apologies if it's incorrect. I used Google Translate.


	2. Thoughts and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The changes begin as Alyssa spends her afternoon contemplating her future instead of skateboarding at Underland. Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, Char chooses her next destination and is reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, guys. Been busy with school, but guess who graduated? ^^
> 
> Anyway, the only thing that will hold up updates now is me working on my novel and if I get one of the jobs I'm applying for. Wish me luck. ;)
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own "Splintered" by A.G. Howard. However, Char is mine, and so is bits and pieces of the plot.

 

> **Chapter 1**  
>  _**Thoughts and Decisions** _

 

Alyssa sits at her desk for a good twenty minutes after she's thrown away her mosaic, brainstorming. She's saved herself - and Jeb - from Morpheus and Wonderland's influence, but in her emotional, snap-decision, she'd forgotten why she'd gone to Wonderland in the first place: Alison.

Alison is still in the asylum. She hasn't had the breakdown that will lead to the shock therapy - not yet. But, still, the doctors aren't going to release Alison for no reason - even if Alyssa vouches for her. And her dad isn't very likely to believe her - he's always been afraid she's going to snap like Alison did.

She drums her fingers against the oak-wood, wracking her brain for solutions. The best she can come up with is talking to Alison and hoping that, someday, they'll release her. But there's no guarantee, and she wants her free now.

She glances at the clock beside her bed and taps her bottom lip; she has less than half an hour before she has to meet her dad. She slides out of her chair and straightens her T-shirt.

She'll think about this later; for right now, she's hungry. She walks into the kitchen, snagging a waterproof jacket as she goes - it'll rain later on (even if the weather report doesn't agree yet), and she doesn't feel like getting soaked the way she did last time. She drapes the jacket over the back of her favorite chair and considers what she's going to have as a late lunch/snack.

Nachos are definitely an option, but she remembers having them last time. And anything that reminds her of her . . . adventures isn't exactly welcome right now. She feels fragile, like if a gust of wind were to catch her wrong, she would shatter into a million pieces.

She still feels guilty - not just about Alison but also about him. She hates it! How can she feel bad about abandoning him when he manipulated her and got Jeb trapped in that jabberlocky box!? Why is there still some vestige that cares about him, buried deep inside her chest?

She shakes the thoughts away and grabs a box of granola bars out of the cupboard; she chooses three chocolate chip ones, then returns the box to its place. She unwraps one and starts eating it, leaning against the counter as she takes enormous bites and barely chews before swallowing.

She has to fix this. Alison deserves more; she's sacrificed so much and has suffered humiliation after humiliation at the hands of the doctors at the asylum. And maybe she'll look for a way to save him, too - for everything that he's done to her, he's still her childhood friend, and she still cares. She doesn't want to see him suffer; she doesn't want him to be trapped in a moth-eaten toy forever.

But she won't go back to Wonderland. She refuses. She refuses to belong there. She refuses to consider herself part-netherling - family lineage be damned.

So she needs to find someone else to go down the rabbit hole, but it has to be someone in her family - someone of Red's lineage. She has no cousins; as far as she knows, Alison was an only child. So the only family she has that isn't already involved is the British Liddells - but how can she get ahold of them? She doesn't even know where to start.

She sighs heavily and, setting her half-eaten granola bar down on the counter, massages her temples with her fingers. Her head is pounding.

Suddenly, her phone buzzes, and the first few opening bars to "...Baby One More Time" by Brittney Spears - a choice made in her freshman year and one she hasn't gotten around to changing - rings out. Rolling her eyes, she answers the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Butterfly." Her dad's voice is tired, but the familiar sound has her eyes filling with tears. She chokes on a sob of relief; it's only now hit her: she's safe. He's safe. The only one who isn't is Alison.

She clears her throat. "What is it, Dad?" she asks once she's sure her voice will be steady and won't be filled with emotion. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Alison's fine," he replies. "Where are you?"

She blinks in surprise. "Hm?"

"Where are you?" he repeats. "You were supposed to be here at five."

She glances over her shoulder at the clock hanging over the sink and bites back a curse. It's almost five-thirty. "I am so sorry, Dad!" she exclaims. "I lost track of time! I'm still at the house, but I'm leaving now."

He chuckles lightly. "It's not a problem, but hurry, Butterfly. Your mom wants to see you."

She can't help the smile that creeps across her face. "I want to see her, too."

And she does. She can finally understand her mother and why she did what she did. She has a shared experience, a shared trauma. She knows Alison better now, and she wants to talk to her, to understand her even better.

She can't wait.

* * *

Char flicks through potential identities with one hand and holds a glass of whiskey in the other. Taking a sip of the alcohol and reveling in the burn as it slides down, her hand stills on one particular ID. Quinn Martinez, an orphan who ran away from the foster system and became best friends with Alison Sinclair - a distant relative.

A wry smile quirks her lips as she reminisces on when she was Quinn, but she shakes the memories off quickly. Nostalgia kills. She can't die, but others can and that's her problem.

She bites her lip to try to shake off the fear and anguish that that thought inspires and takes a huge gulp of her whiskey. The sharp burn that follows chases the emotions away but leaves no cloud on her mind. She can't get drunk, no matter how much alcohol she drinks. She's tested, and let's just say she's lucky her liver can't be damaged.

Returning her attention to the task at hand, Char picks Reese Thomas' ID and studies it. Reese Thomas, a 21-year old, English genius lawyer who's won nearly every case she's taking on and is looking for her next big challenge. Reese is famous enough she'll get some attention when she moves to Pleasance, but she's not big enough to warrant alerting the _Καταστραφεί_.

It's a good fit, but more importantly, it feels right. Like this is who she's meant to be for now.

Sighing, she downs the rest of the whiskey in her glass and sets it down on the counter. "Time to get going," she mutters in her usual Boston accent. She raises her hands, and her fingertips spark with a swirl of colors - stars and nebulas and galaxies.

As her hands glow, illuminating her face, her features shift, sunken cheeks filling in slightly - just enough to not look sickly; she looks elfin, a look increased by the change in her hair. Dark, cropped locks lighten into a honey brown, lengthening and twisting into a shoulder-length wavy cut. Her thin lips fill out, leaving them plump and rosy. A light dusting of freckles across her nose shimmers into existence. Changes continue all the way down her body until at last the glow fades from her fingers.

The final look is entirely different from the drug-addict look of Charlotte "Char" Maybelline, and Reese Thomas gives a grim smile, poison-green eyes glowing eerily.


	3. Visits and Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyssa visits her mother and confesses to everything. Later, she makes an important call, and contact is made.

 

 

 

> **Chapter 2**  
>  _**Visits and Calls**_

 

"Follow me, please."

"All right." Alyssa follows after the nurse, lost in thought.

There's a strange feeling bubbling up in her chest - like deja vu, but on steroids. And with a twist.

The hospital looks the same: clinical in its cleanliness with a tinge of a horror movie vibe with long, empty corridors and yellow blinking lights illuminating white tiles in a strobing fashion. The nurses look the same, too: dressed in peppermint scrubs that have them looking more like candy stripers than certified health-care professionals, and, in the case of women, hair pulled back into buns so tight their cheekbones seem sharper, their eyebrows harsher, their eyes longer. But she isn't the same: her platinum waves have been pulled up in a loose ponytail, her red T-shirt with a screen-printed design of a bleeding heart wrapped in barbed wire has been paired with a black waterproof windbreaker, her eyeshadow is smudged. She's different, but they're not.

What if it stays that way? What if the situation doesn't change at all? What if she's doomed to repeat the past? What if she loses Jeb again?

The nurse swipes her ID card and pushes the door open, holding it there. "I'll be back soon," she warns Alyssa, vaguely menacing - like she thinks Alyssa will do something stupid in the time that the nurse is gone, like stage a breakout for her mother.

She hopes her thoughts don't show themselves in her expression as she steps through the door. "Okay. Thank you," she murmurs.

The nurse just sort of jerks her head and pulls the door shut in Alyssa's wake before sweeping off, out of sight.

Alyssa sighs and turns, scanning the courtyard as she walks down the cement patio, stamped to look vaguely like cobblestone. Several of the black cast-iron bistro tables, that would look more at home at a cafe in Paris when combined with the patio if it weren't for the fact that they were all bolted into the cement, are empty, but the one furthest from her, nearest the gardens, isn't.

Both her parents sit there, heads bent together and seeming in deep conversation. She's surprised by the sudden, deep swell of longing that surges from within her; she wants that to be real - she wants that to be always. She wants her mother home again.

With a determined set to her jaw, she strides up to the table, pulling her jacket off as she goes. "Hey, Mom, Dad, sorry I'm late." She drapes the jacket over the back of her seat and slides into it, completely missing the stunned looks on both of her parents' faces.

There are a few moments of silence, the two parents sharing a look, before conversation picks up again. It's the same conversation as last time, so Alyssa tunes them out, instead focusing on slurping her ice cream soup out of her teacup and glancing around the garden.

Eventually the conversation shifts, and she tunes back in just in time to see her dad about to pull out pictures of her mosaics. As much as she would love to share her accomplishments with her mother, she doesn't want her mother to have flashbacks to Wonderland - and she certainly doesn't want them either.

So she cuts into the conversation. "Hey, Dad."

He pauses in the process of pulling the snapshots from his wallet. "Yeah, Butterfly?" he replies, glancing up at her.

She carefully doesn't look at him, keeping her eyes focused on the sky. "Would it be okay if I were to talk to Mom - to _Alison_?" She corrects herself, silently cursing for slipping. "Alone?"

Her dad hesitates. "I don't know."

Before he can say much more, she continues. "If something happens, I can always call the gardeners for help." She points in the direction of the shed. "And besides, I want to talk to her about girl things."

She turns to look at her mother. "You wouldn't mind, would you?"

Her mother looks wary and kind of concerned - like she has a suspicion of where this is heading - but she shakes her head. "I don't mind," she says slowly.

Alyssa turns back to her father, an expectant look on her face.

He caves quickly. "All right," he sighs. "But call me when you're done." He taps a finger against the cell phone bulge in her skirt pocket, and she nods.

It looks like he's agreeing less for the sake of Alyssa and her mother bonding and more to get out of 'girl talk'. She mentally shrugs; whatever works.

He slides out of his seat and walks back into the asylum.

The moment he's gone, Alyssa turns to her mother. "I went," she declares before her mother can even open her mouth. "I went to Wonderland."

Her mother's mouth falls open. "H-How? What?"

"I got a wish and used it to travel back before I ever looked for him," she says with a slight grimace. Guilt still sits on her chest, cracking her bones and seeping into the marrow.

Her mother is silent for a moment, face pensive but full of a tight tension. "I'm glad you made it out, but that's not the end of it," she declares after a few seconds. "I know Morpheus - he's not going to give up."

Alyssa's grimace deepens, and her mother looks at her, bright blue eyes narrowed.

"What?"

She hesitates. "I . . . He told me that . . . he loved me," she admits slowly. "He looked . . . devastated when I left."

Her mother suddenly curses, startling her both with its volume and the vulgarity. She didn't know her mother well, but she'd never heard the woman curse - ever; she didn't seem the type, really. All delicate and fairy-like, yes. This admittedly stunning woman with hard arctic eyes and the mouth of a sailor, no.

Her mother continues cursing with a fury for a few minutes before seeming to cool a little. "If Morpheus was telling the truth," she says, her jaw clenched and expression making it very clear that she thinks he was, "then he will either go after us worse, or he will . . . _sulk_. Both are very . . . _not good_ , to say the least."

Despite herself, Alyssa's brows draw together. "What do you mean?" she asks. "How is he sulking bad? It means he isn't harassing us, doesn't it?"

Her mother gives her a look, and she flinches; the woman's eyes are like ice, cold and scolding in a fearsome way.

"If Morpheus is sulking, then he isn't trying to break his Deathspeak Curse," her mother says, as if the problem in that is obvious, but Alyssa can't seem to see it.

With a sharp twist to her lips and a bitter tone in her voice, she replies. "Why does that matter?"

"Morpheus is the Keeper of Wonderland's wisdom!" her mother snaps at her, and she flinches again; her mother's never snapped at her. Ever. "Without him, all of Wonderland will fall apart!"

She is still bitter about his betrayal, about his manipulations, but she doesn't express them. Instead, she buries those emotions, fixes a placid and peaceful expression to her face, and inquires, "What should we do now?"

Her mother's reply is near instant. "Well, we have a few options. One: you go back down the Rabbit Hole and finish those damn challenges," she declares, and Alyssa can't quite help but make a face. Her mother looks slightly amused at that, but there's an annoyance lingering in the corner of her eyes, a sort of unmet expectation. "All right, clearly that's not going to happen. Option number two: I break out and go myself. Or, three: we find a relative who's willing to go down the Rabbit Hole and fix your mess."

She puts the mystery on hold, though, to reply to her mother's suggestions. "I would prefer the third option," she admits. "I'll find someone."

There's a twist to her mother's expression, a disappointment like a raging wildfire in her eyes. Alyssa feels that disappointment cut into her deeply, even if she isn't sure what her mother's disappointed in her for.

"When I was younger I had a friend who was very good at finding people," her mother says, lips pursed as she speaks. "Hand me your phone and I'll give you her number."

Alyssa nods, draws her phone out of her pocket, and passes it to her mother.

"Quinn knows everything," the woman says as she types. She passes the phone back to Alyssa. "Tell her the whole story - she'll send someone who she trusts to get things done."

Alyssa nods and tucks her phone back into her pocket, but her mother isn't done.

"But, Allie, be careful," she warns, expression serious and hard despite the fond, childhood nickname she's using. "Don't lie to whoever Quinn sends; they will know, and they won't help."

With a near silent gulp, Alyssa nods again and bows her head. "I won't. I promise," she vows quietly. Then she looks up, eyes meeting her mother's. "Mom, can you . . . try to act sane, though? Try to get out of the asylum that way?"

Her mother looks at her, cornflower blue eyes searching hers. "I will," she says, voice low and like a whisper. Her hand comes up to cup Alyssa's face, her thumb stroking beneath her eye. "I love you, Alyssa."

Alyssa buries her face into her mother's hand, reveling in the scent she's been missing for years. Soap, a delicate kind of flower, and a hint of something spicy - like cinnamon. "I love you, too, Mom," she murmurs, tears pricking at her eyes. "So, so much."

After a few moments, her mother pulls away and glances up at the sky before returning her ice-chip eyes to her. "You should go," she says, eyes unreadable as they bore into Alyssa's matching irises. "Your father is waiting for you, and it looks like it's going to rain."

Disappointment surges, bitter and cloying, and she nearly chokes on it. Still, she fights her way through the swell, burying it deep in her chest and forcing a smile on her face instead. "Okay," she says, unable to help the slightly sad twist to her smile as she stands to leave.

If her mother notices, she doesn't give any indication.

* * *

 

"Dad, I really have to go," Alyssa insists, one foot inside Gizmo and the other resting on the pavement. Her father stands on the lawn still, his feet firmly planted and a look of obstinate stubbornness on his face; he's been asking for an explanation of her earlier behavior for about the past minute, and she doesn't really have a good explanation - not one that he would believe. "I'm supposed to be covering for Jen - she's expecting me."

Her father grimaces and waves her off. "Fine, Butterfly. But we'll be talking about this later."

"Sure." She swings into her car and yanks the door shut. She breathes a sigh and leans her head against her steering wheel, muttering a low "Not a chance in Hell." After a moment, she straightens up and watches as her father strides off to his car. As he's pulling out of the parking lot, she slides her phone from her skirt pocket and pulls up the new number.

 _Quinn Martinez_. She has a sudden mental image of a drug addict hooked on psychedelic meds, all skin and bones and pale skin and dark hair and circles under her eyes. Or maybe a crazy who belongs in an asylum, all tiny body and cropped hair and pale skin and white dresses.

Who is this woman? Who knows what she's like? Who knows if she can even help?

Alyssa is almost panicking, but her mother trusts this woman, recommended her so there must be something there. Before she can talk herself out of it, she presses the call button.

It rings four times before someone picks up.

 _"Hello?"_ It's a woman for sure - dignified and noble but undeniably feminine, and she has a strange sort of accent; it sounds kind of British but . . . not. And there's an odd wariness to her voice, like she's expecting a blow to come at any moment.

Alyssa gulps near-silently. "Is this Quinn Martinez?"

A pause. _"This is she."_ The woman's voice is cold, almost sharp - like a thin sheet of ice. It's nervewracking.

Alyssa feels the need to explain herself. "I-I was told to call. By my mother."

Silence.

"She said that you would know her," she adds nervously. "Alison Gardner. I . . . I think her maiden name started with an S."

 _"Sinclair?"_ The woman sounds almost frigidly amused. It isn't relieving; if anything, it makes Alyssa even more nervous.

"Yes!" she exclaims a little too loudly, then winces. She clears her throat. "Erm, yes. That's her."

_"I knew Alison when we were much younger; she was a very dear friend. But I haven't been in contact with her for many years. So for what reason is her daughter getting in contact with me?"_

"It's about Wonderland," she blurts out.

There's another pause, and this one is longer than any of the others. She's only just opening her mouth to say something when the woman replies.

_"I'll send someone."_

Before Alyssa can say anything, the dial tone beeps in her ear.


End file.
